


Culture Shock

by Aithilin



Series: Nyx Ulric Appreciation Week 2020 [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Culture Shock, Feast, Friendship, Gen, Nyx Ulric Appreciation Week, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:15:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24841411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: For a feast held in their honour, the food had more of a Lucian flare than a Galahdian charm.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum & Nyx Ulric
Series: Nyx Ulric Appreciation Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1794022
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	Culture Shock

“I don’t get it,” Libertus held the bowl closer to his nose, stirring the clear broth with his spoon as if searching through the liquid gold for some substance. “How is this a meal?”

“It’s not,” Crowe, to her merit, had adapted easily to the change in food. The rich and savoury fare of everyday Galahdian meals had given way to the sparse and spartan scraps of the Lucian military as they were ushered across borders and into new lives. “It’s an appetizer.”

“It’s a drink,” which Libertus made an example of by slurping the golden soup from its bowl, still making a face at the bland flavour. “C’mon, Nyx, don’t tell me you’re not insulted by this.”

“I’m not insulted by the soup,” Nyx offered a shrug as he copied Crowe’s tactic to make the appetizer more appealing. A healthy dose of pepper was added first, to fight off the overly salty flavours the Lucians deemed a delicacy. Then a touch of the meat meant to be eaten separately, to give the anemic soup something of a real flavour. “Just get through it and hope the main course is better.”

Around them where other Glaives trying to get through the meal meant in their honour. Luche had crumbled crackers into the the soup like most of the other Glaives searching for something more substantial; Pelna had ignored the soup entirely, pushing it aside as he watched the room and filled himself with the bland Lucian rolls that had been placed at every table. Other had suffered silently through the first course and its speeches, but they had all been largely ignored by the hosting Lucian nobility. 

“This isn’t food,” Libertus hissed across the table when the next course was delivered to them. The speeches gave them an excuse to poke and prod and examine the alleged meat dish that had been placed before them.

The plate was nearly empty. A small steak, round and juicy, was framed with colourful garnish, a trail of some complementary sauce dotting the whole thing like a thin halo. Everything was just a touch off centre, highlighting something that Nyx was sure was important to Lucian sensibilities. But where the soup had been thin and flavourless, this new addition to the meal seemed like a small compensation for suffering through. 

The steak had been cut already, and Nyx could see that it was perfectly cooked. Perfect for a Lucian restaurant used to catering the wealthy elite of the city, who may never have seen a garula in their lives. It was some small piece cut from a larger, heartier meal. And Libertus was not having any of it. 

“Where’s the rest of it?”

“Will you shut up and just eat?” Crowe had already shoved the greenery aside to get at the morsel of meat without anything in her way. 

The meal wouldn’t last much longer, Nyx knew as he picked at the tender steak to try to make it last. Lucians preferred their formal meals fast, with few interruptions despite the obligations. The formal affairs like these were meant for networking and plying others with social graces. They were meant to be seen and heralded as heroes rather than the refugees they were, adapted to their new home while largely ignored by the hosts who invited them there. 

But Nyx knew that the expectation was unique to the few nobles and business owners— the rich and elite social climbers of the Lucian world— rather than everyone seated at the long head table occupied by the more esteemed hosts. 

Prince Noctis had done the same as Crowe; colourful garnished shoved to the side of the plate, already wilting in the heat of the room. In a few hours, they would all be free of this disaster forged by good intentions.

The main course, at least, has some seasoning to it. A far cry from the spice and heat of a Galahdian fare, but a savoury dish with a decent flavour when swiped through the sauce dotting the plate. Nyx could almost enjoy it, even as Libertus continued his muttered griping in spite of Crowe’s glares. 

Had this been a Galahdian meal, the plates would be bigger. Trays filled to overflowing with bowls of sauces and spices, marinated meats and rich vegetables. There would be courses of these trays, like a proper feast where wealth was shown through abundance rather than artful arrangements. The soup of the first course, with it’s abandoned tiny slivers of bland and blanched meat would have been more of a stew— steaming and creamy broth swimming with root vegetables and cubes of rich, dark cuts. There would have been a veritable rainbow of colours between the sauces, the fish, and the steaks; everything shared between a table while conversation flowed with strong drinks and shared bites. 

Lucians expected conversations to be muted. Drinks were served in moderation and meditated over once a vintage was revealed in a quiet whisper from a server meant to be unseen. 

There were still speeches and toasts to be had; congratulations and medals to honour the Glaives attending to be handed out like party favours. The King had thanked them all for their service, while the Prince shuffled his way away from the spotlight. In the news the next day, the Lucian would get the credit for the feast and party, heralded as some outreach or gentrification of Galahdian culture.

It was a sweet gesture. 

But it was a Lucian gesture. And it would be ignored by the majority of Glaives who immediately took to their search for some real food once they were dismissed. 

“Well?” Noctis asked once the mantle of Crown Prince had been shed and he had taken up an oversized hoodie to join Nyx on the street. Sleek black and grey cars were moving between the tall gates of the Citadel. People not required to stay or not in awe of the seat of Lucian power had already filled the streets as they hurried on to more favourable activities. 

“Well what?” Nyx had lost Libertus in the crowd after the meal and speeches were done. He knew his friend had bolted from the lights and pomp of the Citadel, still cursing what accounted for a Lucian style Galahdian feast. 

“How bad was it, hero?”

When Nyx had first arrived in the city, he had found a tiny apartment buried beneath rows and towers of foreign design. He had first thought that the city was sterile and cold— shining and glittering and not meant for him. There had been a shock to his sensibilities when he realized that no one was interested in his polite greetings beyond the expectation of good service, or that food he had grown up with was considered a rarity. He remembered how exciting and different the city had seemed at first; restaurants and shops he had never thought existed, galleries full of a different world. 

But then finding something familiar had been harder and harder. Where Libertus had stubbornly refused to indulge in the Lucian sensibilities eroding their own, Nyx found himself wishing he had just a taste of the familiar again. 

“Not that bad,” Nyx answered with a smile; “for a Lucian dinner.”

“I told dad it wouldn’t win you over.”

“Just me? Or the rest of the team.”

“The team,” he had found a unique sense of wonder in Noctis. A curiosity that had kindled his own love for hearth and home again as he showed the Prince the little things when he had first asked to tag along. The small things that Nyx realized he had missed in the everyday rituals. 

He put an arm around Noctis’ shoulders and started to guide him down the familiar streets beyond the Citadel Plaza. “Nothing will win them over, little star. Nothing.”


End file.
